


The Young Wolf

by pynklove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Robb Stark - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pynklove/pseuds/pynklove
Summary: Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, has declared himself King in the North. You are one of husband most trusted advisors, and he call so upon you to visit him one night.





	The Young Wolf

It’s been a long and tiresome day. Your wet riding leathers and hair cling to you’re face and body, and your bones ache from the day. Although your tent is hardly a palace, it feels like a safe haven, with it’s candles and warmth and promise of a night’s rest underneath soft blankets. You’re about to undress when a steward abruptly appears. “My lady,” he says sheepishly, poking his head in the entrance to the tent. “His Grace wishes to speak with you.” His Grace could ask me his bloody self, you think, but instead of saying that aloud you simply nod and smile at the boy. You make your way out of your tent towards the King’s own one in the centre of the camp, a light drizzle of rain kissing your face. It was like leftover rain, all the cloud’s had left to offer after the downpour earlier. You pause at his tent, his guard announces your arrival, and you step in. Robb Stark stands over a table depicting the position of enemy forces, as if staring at it long enough would win him the war. He doesn’t wear his large fur skin cloak; only leathers, riding wear, casual for a king. He turns as you enter, leaning the balls of his hands on the table. “You wished to see me, your Grace?” You say cordially. It feels odd, speaking to him so formally; before he’d declared himself King in the North, he was simply Robb, your friend. He gestures for you to approach, and you do so. He continues to urge you closer until finally there’s barely a foot between you. He reaches out, takes your hands in his, and pulls you so close you can feel his warm breath on your face, making you gasp slightly. He smiles, removes his hand from yours and instead caresses your cheek lightly. Your mind urges you to stop him, to pull away, he’s betrothed to the Frey girl; but your body doesn’t respond, melting into his, electricity flying. As he rests his forehead against yours you feel your breathing quicken. “W-what are you doing Robb?” You finally mister the courage to whisper. “What I’ve wanted to do since I met you,” he kisses your lips lightly, like a touch of sweet honey. “I love you, Y/N”   
By then, whatever sense or ‘honour’ you had has gone with the wind. You lift your head up and kiss him, softly yet deeply. His hands wrap around your waist as you hold his face in your hands, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. He turns you both around and you jump up so that your seared on the table, your legs wrapped around his waist. You’re not thinking about your wet clothes or hair or breathing or anything, only him, his skin, his heat, his breath. He lifts you up in his arms, his hands supporting your weight under your thighs. He drops you down onto the bed and lays on top of you, trying to unbutton both his and your clothing quickly. He keeps fumbling with belts and buttons and you laugh, helping him. Soon your both undressed, with him on top, kissing your lips and neck. In a sudden move you twist your body over so that you’re on top of him, making him smile and kiss you passionately. You break your kiss and slowly, very, very, slowly, lower yourself downwards, sitting on your knees in between his legs as he lays down. When he tried to rise you raise a hand to signal for him to lay down again. Finally, you take his dick in your hand and stroke it, never breaking eye contact. You wrap your lips around it and begin to pleasure him with your mouth, and he moans and holds a chunk of your hair in his hand, his grip tightening every now and then. After a while you resurface, kissing him again, straddling him. He flips you over onto your back and kisses you all over; your face, neck, breasts, stomach, and finally, your lower lips. A chill runs up your spine as he goes to work with his tongue, and you let out a quiet moan. When he kisses you again he tastes of the sea. You’re soaking wet by the time he slips himself inside of you. You run your hands through his curly hair as he grinds into you, moaning lightly. You flip him onto his back and begin to ride him, Robb moaning your name as you do. You reach climax, with him following soon after. Afterward you lay in eachother’s arms, whispering and kissing and giggling. You drift off to sleep wrapped in his embrace, thanking the gods you’d answered his summons.


End file.
